


By Increments

by Drel_Murn



Series: Step by Step [7]
Category: Avatar: The Last Airbender
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Baoshan, Cross-Posted on FanFiction.Net, Dreams and Nightmares, Dreamsharing, Earth Kingdoms Rebellion, Existential Crisis, Fire Colony Rebellion, Fire Nation (Avatar), Fire Nation Capital, Fire Nation Royal Family, Fire Nation colonies, Gen, Honoiro, Honoiro | Fire Nation Capital, Kitsune, Mythical Beings & Creatures, Negotiations, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Sane Azula (Avatar), Servants, Spies & Secret Agents, Spirits, Trust
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-04-20
Updated: 2018-11-30
Packaged: 2019-04-25 14:48:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 4
Words: 8,290
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14380899
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Drel_Murn/pseuds/Drel_Murn
Summary: A series of side stories for Step by Step.





	1. Faith Walks on Broken Glass: Minato of Kyoshi Island

I’m already awake, laying there and thinking about children ( _ my-children-not-my-children, their-children, but they are my-children because that is who they are, that is all I’ve ever known them as, but they aren’t-my-children because I’ve-never-met-them, I was the-one-who-gave-birth to them, but I’m a guy, I can’t give birth- _ ) when Vasuman goes still, and the quiet sounds of his breathing cut off. I hesitate for a moment, then roll over so that I can see his silhouette in the darkness.

“Hey,” I whisper, just loud enough to carry. For a long moment, the tension builds, tingling up my spine like a shiver. Then Vasuman breaths.

“Minato.”

He doesn’t relax, but to be fair, I can’t either.

“Do you want to get tea?” I ask softly, even as I sit up and push my blanket off to the side. Even if he doesn’t, laying around doing nothing isn’t going to help me tonight.

“Yes,” he says, pushing his blankets off. “Please.”

Vasuman follows me through the dark, down the stairs to the kitchen. The sound of bare feet on wood is utterly different from the sound of boots on ice, and it helps me concentrate on the here and now.

I prop the window shutter open as Vasuman crouches by the fire pit with the spark rocks. In the moonlight, I can see his hands shaking, but after the first two tries, he pauses, takes a deep breath and manages to still them long enough to send sparks into the piled kindling. He flinches back from the sight of the sparks. Before they can go out, I slide into place next to him and gently blow on them so they flare and catch more of the tangled dry grass.

Vasuman’s hands are over his eyes when I sit up to check the water level in the kettle hanging over the fire pit, but I don’t comment on it. It’s not like fear of fire is a particularly rare thing. His shoulders hitch occasionally, but by time I’ve got the fire going, he’s still again.

“You asked me once about hoshi no tama.”

Star balls. When I’d asked him about them, he’d frozen. I hadn’t heard of the stories that said that they’re a kitsune’s soul when I asked him. If I’d known, I wouldn’t have asked.

“I remember,” I say as I turn away from the fire and reach for the tea leaf tin and the teapot.

“When the war started between the air spirits, I was seven. And my mother tried to keep me away from the war - she tried - but it wasn’t just some little confrontation between two spirits. It was a full blown civil war between Makani Storm Lord’s spirits and Era of the Breeze’s, and Era was winning. She had long since scattered his people. Makani was never the most popular, and with his people in hiding, fewer and fewer pledged their children to him.”

I turn back to the fire and set the teapot and two cups down next to the fire pit.

“Who were the Storm Lord’s people?” I ask. “I’ve only heard of the Air Nomads. Were they like the Water Tribes? Split in two, each one worshiping a different spirit?”

“Nomads.” Vasuman snorts. “Didn’t you ever wonder why they were called that? The monks weren’t very nomadic. Makai’s people were the ones who earned that name. They went anywhere and everywhere, brought trade to remote villages, helped people escape bad situations - it was both their salvation and their undoing. Because they were hard to find, and because those they had helped hid them, the genocide lasted for centuries. People only noticed the monks after Makani’s people were gone. They figured the monks were the nomads - just settled down - and there wasn’t anyone to correct that assumption.”

He focuses on my hands as I use the winch to raise the kettle before it can whistle, then carefully pull a stream of hot water out and direct it to the kettle. He remains silent as I go through the familiar motions of measuring out the tea and pouring the water in, then pouring the tea into our cups once it’s steeped.

Vasuman accepts his cup with murmured thanks.

“Like I said though, the actual nomads were scattered long ago - long enough that even my grandmother only knew stories of them.” Vasuman frowns and shakes his head. “We’re getting off track.”

“You don’t have to tell me anything.”

“No,” Vasuman says shortly, looking up from his cup. Even in the orange light of the fire, his fingers look pale around his tea cup. “You should know. You deserve to-”

“Your past is your own, no matter where you live. Your bedroll under my roof doesn't give me the right to every corner of your mind.”

There’s a moment where the crackle of the fire and the hum insects outside are the only sounds, then Vasuman looks away.

“I want you to know,” he says. “I want - I want someone to know. I want to be able to talk to someone about it, and you know me better than anyone else.” He laughs bitterly. “What’s one more secret?”

I watch as he takes a deep breath. My fingers clench convulsively on my cup.

“I was saying . . . that it was a full scale civil war, and my mother had tried to keep my away from it, right? Well, she tried, but . . . I guess she made a mistake. One day, some air spirits found the place where she’d been hiding me. And maybe it was because they were angry, and just looking for any target. Or maybe it was because they’re spirits. You know how spirits are - even the ones that used to be human have a hard time telling humans apart. Well, they’re just as bad with kitsune - they probably thought that  _ I _ was the kitsune attacking them-”

“Breathe,” I interrupt him, setting my cup down of the woods floor with a click and prying his hands off of his cup before it cracks. Once I have his cup on the floor, I wrap my hands around his and look into his eyes. “Breathe with me, alright, in, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, out, 2, 3, 4, 5 ,6, 7, in-”

It takes several long minutes to calm him down, but I don’t begrudge him the time. He’d walked me through more than one panic attack when some memory from the storm had rushed abruptly to the surface of my mind because I saw a fish in the market or because the way he moved reminded me of the Fire Nation soldiers who had killed someone ( _ me-not-me, but me all the same _ ).

“I’m sorry-”

“Don’t. Remember, no apologies,” I tell him, repeating the words he’d told me a hundred times as I squeeze his hands. I get a weak smile. I glance at the moon outside the window. “It’s getting late. We could-”

“I want to finish,” Vasuman says. “I want to - to get it over with. I don’t want to wait for some other night and to have to rip open these wounds all over.”

“. . . alright.” I settle into a more comfortable position, then take his hands again. “So, the spirits-”

“Yes. Whatever their reasons, they attacked me, and they took my . . . they took my hoshi no tama. I . . . what do you actually know about hoshi no tama?”

“I’ve heard that they are a kitsune’s soul, and that with one, you can get a favor,” I reply cautiously. Vasuman isn’t looking at he. His eyes are flicker around the room, constantly moving - landing on everything except for me.

“What wouldn’t you do to get your soul back?” Vasuman mutters, before he nods and closes his eyes. For all of his insistence, his hands are shaking, and he has to breathe slowly before he starts talking again. “That’s all true enough. And when it’s been taken for long enough, it hurts. And I don’t know why they didn’t kill me-”

His voice breaks, and he drags in a deep breath, practically crushing my fingers.

“By the time they let me go, by the time they gave me back my hoshi no tama, the Air Nomads were all dead. The spirits’ war was over - mostly because they didn’t have a cohesive enough people to fight over - and I was . . . more than a little insane.”

For a long moment, there’s only the sound of the fire crackling in front of us and the hum of insects outside. It feels like there should be silence, echoing silence.

Then I sigh and carefully work one of my hands out of his so that I can grab his abandoned tea cup and take a drink.

“How’d you get better?”

Vasuman takes another deep breath as he squeezes my other hand, then releases it. “The long way.” He pushes his bangs back and rubs at his eyes - which are somehow still dry - as he yawns. “So you wouldn’t happen to have a burning desire to tell me why you were up, would you? Because it  _ is _ late, and I  _ am _ tired.”

“Well, you’ve heard all about my nightmare before, so it won’t take nearly as long,” I comment dryly as I stand and walk around the fire to grab my cup so I can place the pair next to the sink. “It was the usual.”

“And what set it off?” Vasuman asks, handing me the teapot, to put in the ice box.

“. . . Yumiko. She was running ahead of me while I was running errands, and I almost called her - I almost called her someone else’s name.”

( _ Ulva. I almost called her Ulva. Ulva, who saw me die in front of her, Ulva, who probably died right next to my corpse- _ )

And now it’s my turn to take deep breaths, my fingers clenched around the handle of the ice box as I fight the memories and Vasuman rubs my back, counting out my breaths for me. I stare blankly at my white knuckles, made even paler by the silver moonlight.

Here we are, a couple of broken little children, trying to save the world in our spare time. I make myself let go of the handle, and let Vasuman turn me around to hug him.

“Why can’t I stop?” I ask him, my voice muffled by his shirt. “Face Stealer take it all, they are not my memories-”

“Come on. Let’s go back to bed.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter title come from 21 Guns by Green Day.


	2. It's a revolution, I suppose: Hikari of Honoiro Island

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Azula meets with Kouki, one of her potential suitors. It . . . goes fine for her. Awesome even. (Ozai might disagree.)

I sit across from Saito with Azula to my left, and Kouki Oshiro to my right. The tea seeping in the pot on the table between us is black tea, the tea Saito had told me was Kouki’s favorite. It probably isn’t. I wouldn’t have spoken of Azula's favorite tea if Saito had asked me, even with the conversation Azula has planned.

I keep my eyes on the table and mechanically pour a new cup whenever someone’s empties as Saito and Azula make small talk. I feel hyper aware of Fuyuko as she moves through the garden around us, sending Azula’s guards out in a wider formation. Some of the guards glance over at us in surprise before they move away. The new formation is a familiar one - used by nobility whenever they need their guards close enough to still be worthy of the name guard, but far enough away that they can’t hear the words being spoken.

It’s the first time Azula has used the formation. Normally, you don’t need it until you’re talking contracts with a another lord.

I keep track of the last few guards by the flickering of Saito’s eyes and the sound of their feet on gravel. The conversation trails off as Fuyuko sends the last guards away, Azula and Kouki too busy watching them retreat to make meaningless small talk. I don’t turn. Fuyuko’s steps are the only sounds in the courtyard as she approaches the table and settles down behind Azula.

Without the sounds of her footsteps, the open courtyard is almost silent. There’s the faint sound of bird song from the garden around it, and the rustling of wind blown leaves as they skid over the gravel, and not much else.

“You went to a lot of trouble for this,” Kouki says, putting one elbow on the table and resting his cheek on his palm.

“Well, I can’t exactly talk with you like I talked with Aoi,” Azula says. She taps her fingers on the table once, then nods to me, leaning back to pass the fifth tea cup to Fuyuko, then picking up her own cup.

I tear my gaze away from Saito, and set my cup down. Kouki’s eyes are on me, eyes a shade of darjeeling tea so much lighter than the typical Fire-brown, eyes that are either a signal of either recent royal heritage, or Chaos’s luck in inherited traits. It’s more than a little intimidating.

“What do you think of the situation between the islands and the colonies?” I ask him. Kouki’s eyes narrow. He looks over to Azula, but she ignores him, her gaze fixed on some point behind him as she very pointedly, and somewhat rudely slurps her tea loud enough to make sure that he gets the picture. He turns back to me.

“Don’t you already know that?” he asks. “I’m fairly sure that Princess Azula has a tutor devoted solely to the colonies.”

“That’s not what I asked.”

Kouki watches me for a long moment before he nods. “It’s not. Saito.”

I don’t look at Azula, and she doesn’t look at me. Across the table, Saito sits up straighter and sets his tea cup aside. His eyes seem suddenly brighter as he focuses on me, his shoulders straighter, his chin higher. It’s odd to watch the transformation from the outside.

For a fleeting moment, I wonder how we must look from the outside. Two nobles in their bright clothing, with another noble acting as a guard, sitting back as two servants negotiate.

“You asked about the relationship between the islands and the colonies, right?” Saito asks, tracing the rim of his tea cup with one finger. I nod silently, and he grins at me from across the table. “I’ll bet you heard something from Aoi, didn’t you?”

I’d hesitate, but I’ve talked with Saito occasionally before. I know he doesn’t speak if he isn’t certain about what he’s saying. If he’s asking about Aoi, he knows we’re in contact.

“Oh, yes, I’ve heard from Aoi,” I say, picking up my tea cup. “Practically every time he mentions the nobles, he’s talking about their angry muttering. I figured I should go straight to the source.”

“Oh? You got that much out of him?”

“Well, after he was invited to Honoiro by the council for consideration as Azula’s husband to be, the nobles seem to have taken a liking to him. They invite him to parties occasionally, show him off like they had something to do with his success,” I reply. “But, again. Not what I asked.”

“Of course,” Saito says, his voice losing the lightness as I take a sip of tea. “Well, what would you be willing to give us for this information?”

“Prince Iroh’s been rather mysterious since he returned, hasn’t he?” I ask. I set my tea cup down and slip my hand in my pocket to grab the dragon scale Iroh gave Azula. I set it on the table between us, close enough to him that he can see it clearly, close enough to me to make it blatantly clear that I’m not giving it away. “Wouldn’t you like to know some of it?”

“Is that a dragon scale?” Kouki interrupts. “It is isn’t it! Azula, Azula, please let me look at it.”

Azula glances up from studying the bottom of her tea cup. “Can you be quiet and let them talk? I’m trying to get information out of you here!”

“Azula, we’re  _ ten _ . I get that this is serious business and all, but that’s got to be a dragon scale. I’ve never seen a dragon scale in my life, do you have any idea how rare they are? Of course you do, you’re the princess! I’ve been trying to get my hands on a dragon scale for the  _ past five years _ .”

“Alright! Alright,” Azula says, rolling her eyes. She grabs the scale from the table in front of me and stomps around the table to shove it into Kouki’s face. He promptly grabs it and holds it to the sun. Azula waves a hand at Saito and me. “You two get back to it. You don’t need either of us for this.”

Saito, when I glance back to him only gives me a resigned shrug. “I was honestly just waiting for this to happen.”

“And I probably should have expected it.” I sigh. “So, information on Iroh for information on the island’s relationship with the colonies?”

“Well, I’d  _ take  _ that, but I rather think that information on Iroh is more valuable that what I have to tell you. You could ask practically anyone that.”

“I  _ have _ asked people before, and everyone I speak to can only give me a vague ‘oh, it’s not that good’. The people Azula speaks to are worse - they’re either convinced there’s nothing wrong, or they refuse to tell Azula because she’s a child.” I snort. “Not like that stopped them from trying to force an engagement on her. I’m so glad they shifted their focus to Ozai.”

“Alright, I’ll take the trade.” Saito says, and we clasp wrists across the table briefly.

“So,” Saito says as he leans back and I pick up my tea cup again. “What did the prince do?”

“Well, he tried pretty hard to make us believe that he went and killed a dragon or two,” I say.

Saito’s eyes narrows, and he glances over to where Kouki is holding the scale up to the sunlight. “Did you-”

“Yes, I had it checked in the hall of records. If nothing else, it’s newer than the one on display from Lord Yuuma.”

“Huh. That is definitely way too much for what you’re asking.”

I grin at Saito. “Not if I can’t get the information anywhere else.“

Kouki’s voice rises a bit and I glance over, but he’s just talking about something to Azula, who looks increasingly annoyed as he gestures enthusiastically.

“About the colonies . . .” Saito says, drawing my attention back to him. He’s frowning as he traces the rim of his cup. “There’s a reason I was so surprised that you asked. Maybe it’s not as well known here, but . . . the colonies are pretty resentful of the islands. Well, that’s wrong. Those who control the colonies are resentful of the islands. Kouki’s father especially. When we were home, he blew up about it over dinner a couple times a month - ranting about how none of the island lords will give him any respect, even though Zhimu’s been in his family for the past hundred years, and about the fact that he doesn’t have a place in the full council of lords, and about the colony taxes, and about the mandatory recruitment quota.”

“Is it just him?” I ask without much hope.

“No,” Saito says. “I won’t tell you exactly who else, but I’ve heard many of the other colony governors complaining, and more than a few of their aides, and some of the mayors. The common people aren’t worked up yet, but the latest wave of immigrants are starting to stir up trouble in the older colonies. They expected the colonies to be basically another island after at least fifty years of occupation, and instead they’re finding themselves restricted and looked down upon.”

“And is that it?” I ask, closing my eyes as I hold the warm cup of tea to my forehead.

“I’m almost certain that some of the governors are starting to plan a revolt?”

“Wonderful.” I open my eyes and stare blankly at the short hedge that marks the border between the courtyard and the garden.

The talk doesn’t last much longer. Azula gets tired of Kouki’s attempt to figure out absolutely everything about the scale, and she drags me off, along with Fuyuko and the rest of her guards. She has to go to a lesson not long after that, so I don’t manage to talk to her until right before dinner, with Mai and Ty Lee sitting on the bed as I put up Azula’s hair.

“He basically confirmed everything Aoi was saying,” I conclude as I carefully tuck another hairpin into the complicated knot and stand back to eye the whole hairstyle doubtfully. I know that I was specifically trained to do it, but each time, it feels like the whole thing is a game to see how many pins I can get into her hair at one time.

“And what do you think of the situation?” Azula asks.

“Well,” I mutter as I round her chair to start on her makeup, “the islands do all have active representatives to argue their case and bring attention to their problems. I know that a few of the colony governors have representatives here, but none of their representatives are allowed into the council meetings. They have to rely on others to bring up their issues, which probably doesn’t work all that well. It wouldn’t be all that hard for Ozai to create a secondary council for them or to integrate them into the current council, though the current council would definitely try to object.”

I pause in rubbing on the first layer of her makeup to glance down at her. “So, there’s no representation, and it probably wouldn’t be that hard to give representation logistically speaking. I’d be mad too.”

“And my father?”

“Either he doesn’t know of it - in which case he’s extremely ignorant and needs better advisors,” Ty Lee says from the bed, trying to make the option sound cheerful.

“Or, he knows, and doesn’t care how unhappy they are,” Mai says flatly. “Which is all well and good for him until the colonies decide to rebel.”

Azula sighs as I turn back to the table to set down one jar of cream and reach for the next. “Is it bad that I’m starting to not trust him? There are so many things that he and Grandfather Azulon did that just . . . didn’t work.”

_ The Air Nomad genocide. Insisting that spirits don’t exist. _

“I think,” Mai says very deliberately, “that it’s good that you’re noticing. Imagine if you hadn’t. Imagine . . . that you didn’t think to question him. You’ll inherit all of this when he dies. Do you want to inherit a mess?”

“Well then,” Azula says, reaching out one hand for her two friends. Ty Lee hops off the bed and drags Mai with her so they can put their hands on top of hers, and Azula pulls my hand down on top of the pile. “I guess we have ourselves something to do.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter title comes from Radioactive by Imagine Dragons.


	3. Down This Unfamiliar Road: Kiran of Baoshan

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Gopan takes Kiran to his home to meet his parents. It doesn't happen.

“Are you sure you want to bring me back with you?” I ask as I follow Gopan through the crowded streets. “You haven’t gone home in a month, and they don’t know me-”

“Kiran, you’re going to be my second in command. I’m planning on having you around for the rest of my life, you should meet my family at some point. And my family should meet the person I’ve chosen to watch my back,” Gopan says, pulling me down a side street that’s slightly less crowded. “I’ve been planning this for a while now, I just couldn’t find a good opportunity-”

“Gopan, please tell me we’re not going to that house,” I interrupt him, tugging him to stop.

“What?” He blinks at me, then turns just enough that I can’t see his eyes. “Yeah. Why? It doesn’t look that bad does it? They didn’t go overboard with the paint while I was gone did they?”

“No, no, it’s just,” I hesitate as I look up. “I’ve been here before. Mamá can’t bend, so she works as a servant . . . here.”

I half expect him to flail again, like he does whenever something goes wrong, but instead, he pulls himself taller, like he’s pushed a scarecrow pole up alongside his spine. “Oh that. I knew. It’s the other half of the reason I wanted you to come.”

I blink at him, then take another long look at the walls of the house. They look wrong from this angle, so much smaller than I remember them to be.

“You wanted me to meet my mother?”

“Well, you told me why you left. I think . . . I think she’ll be proud,” Gopan says, and here I can hear the familiar stuttering. It makes me suddenly aware of the way my muscles have bunched up, the way I’ve shifted so that I’m ready to run in a moment.

I know what this is. I know that I tend to run away, and I need to stop doing that. I need to stand up, I need to stand still for once in the face of my fear. I’m  _ earth _ for the Lady’s sake. Earth is supposed to be solid, and all I seem to do is give way, like air. I came back to Gopan once - twice. I can go back to my family.

I take a deep breath and throw back my shoulders. I try to borrow some of the confidence Gopan had shown when he told me he knew my mother worked for his family.

“Alright,” I say. “Let’s go.”

We enter through a side door. I follow close behind Gopan, never quite stepping on his heels. I’m all too aware of the eyes on me as he greets people, and the one time I look back, the gardener is blatantly staring at me.

Thankfully it’s better inside without the bustle of things being taken in and out of the estate. The occasional maid bows to Gopan, but for the most part, the hallways are empty as he leads me up to his rooms.

He shows me around his suite, and it’s obvious that he’s been planning  _ this _ , at least, for a while, because his word are stiff and rehearsed until he stumbles over “I like to sit and watch the birds”, and I laugh.

“What do you really do while you sit here?” I ask, hopping onto the window seat.

“Well,” he says settling down on the other side of the window seat, “Here’s where I figured out how to read the dust.”

“Read the dust?” I ask, glancing down at the people moving around in the courtyard below us, their voices drifting up occasionally.

“Yeah, it’s how I - do you know what reading the earth is?”

“I think I’ve heard of it,” I say wrinkling my nose. “I think Kushala does it at some point in her myths to see around corners and such, but no one is ever able to tell me - wait . . . do you know what it is?”

Gopan lets out a soft huff of amusement, but he doesn’t bother turning to look at me. “It’s well, I guess it’s not a fundamental part of earthbending . . . you know how I’m always trying to get you to be less aggressive?”

“Yeah.”

“Well . . . reading the earth is . . . um . . . an extension of that? Or - not that. It’s an extension of what I’m trying to help you with. Your aggressiveness - I’ve told you - actually I haven’t -I’m sorry, I’m not doing a good job at this.” Gopan pauses. I can see his fingers digging into the cushion we’re sitting on.

He tries again.

“Earthbending is supposed to be the art of waiting and attacking when the time is right. You - you attack when you see a good opening, but you don’t always consider how your opponent will respond. I’m good at waiting, at sorting through the possibilities. That’s why I chose you -” He stills in the same way he does when I show him detailed patterns I made on pieces of broken pottery. “I’m too good at waiting sometimes. Onto the point - reading the earth - it’s literally reading the earth. Like, when someone stomps really hard next to you, and you can feel the ground shake? It’s like that, but I can feel even further.”

A bird lands on the wall across the courtyard.

“And you can read the dust in the same way? Feel it in the air, feel it on clothing?”

“Ye-”

There’s the sound of something hitting the floor, and both of us startle to our feet. I turn towards the sound, my heart jumping double time, hands already pushing me backwards, when the face registers.

Gopan’s fingers dig into my wrist, jerking me to a stop before I reach the window sill.

“Kiran,” Mamá murmurs. She moves to step forwards, only to stop when her feet hit the laundry basket. “We thought you were dead.  _ I thought you were dead. _ ”

I take a deep breath, very aware of the open air at my back, aware of how easy it would have been to just . . . leave, if Gopan hadn’t caught me.

Mamá steps around the basket. I push myself forwards, step by step until I’m standing in front of her. Her hands come up, and I shift nervously in place for a moment, then still as she cups my cheeks. She studies my face for a long moment, her thumbs rubbing my cheek bones. Then her gaze shifts to my uniform, then slowly to Gopan behind me, and she goes pale.

Her gaze darts from me to him then back, and she abruptly steps back.

“Sir, I’m sorry-”

“It’s alright, Radha,” Gopan says. “I know that Kiran’s your daughter.”

“Sir?” Mamá asks, the perfect picture of confusion.“You must have mistaken me with someone else. My son Kiran is my only child.”

I stifle a laugh as Gopan steps forwards so that he’s standing shoulder to shoulder with me. “It’s okay Mamá. Gopan knows.”

Her eyes dart from Gopan’s face to mine. “Just so that we’re all clear, what exactly does he know?”

“He knows I’m a girl.”

She hums skeptically, then steps forwards again. This time she reaches out to tug at my uniform, pulling my tunic down to straighten some of the creases and pulling the seams at my shoulders forwards to that it settles more naturally. “You look good in a uniform.”

“Thank you-”

I stumble forwards as she tugs me forwards, a fierce look on her face. “What were you thinking, leaving us right then? Grama was so worried, and you poor Aunt Ayesha blamed herself!”

“I’m sorry,” I say. I glance down, and I can’t bring myself to look into her eyes.

Mamá sighs after a long moment and lets me go, smoothing the wrinkles she’d made when she grabbed me. “Well. At least you did better than I did. When  _ I _ ran away to join the army, I got caught five days in.”

“ _ What _ ?”

“I had trouble with taking a shower, but you could just bend yourself a curtain, couldn’t you?” she asks, tapping her bottom lip with one finger. “Guard Chief Rasul still gives me a look when ever I see him, but at least your father was impressed.”

“ _ What. _ ”

“What “what” Kiran? Use your words,” Mamá says, a smile playing on her lips.

“Do you want me to leave?” Gopan asks, and Mamá glances over to him.

Before she can say anything, I grab his arm. I hope that my mother doesn’t see how white my knuckles go as I force a light tone to hide my panic at the thought of being alone with my mother - with any of my family. “Nope. You got me into this, you’re going to stay with me until it’s over.”

“Well, he may not be leaving, but I do need to get back to work,” Mamá says. She studies my face again. “Promise me you’ll visit?”   
  
“I promise, Mamá.”

And with that, she turns around to pick up the basket of laundry that she’d dropped. She sets her shoulders, nods at me, then walks over to one of the doors that Gopan hadn’t gotten around to telling me about.

My grip on Gopan’s arm relaxes as I watch her go, but he doesn’t pull away.

“That wasn’t so bad, was it?” he asks in the silence after the door closes, and my grip tightens for a moment before I force myself to let go of him, and I turn to walk back to the window seat.

“Not so bad, no,” I reply. I look for the the bird that I’d been watching earlier, but it must have flown away.

“And she seemed proud.”

“Yeah.”   
  


“And something’s wrong,” Gopan says, sitting down across from me.

“Yeah- wait no!” I sit up straighter.

“What’s wrong?”

“Nothing!”

He doesn’t give me a look because he can’t see me, but the unfocused glare works fairly well. I feel the urge to run, and I feel the weight of the bag of gemstones he gave me in my pocket. They’re a promise, a symbol of the training he’s giving me, a promise that I’ll come back. I’d tried to give it back to him after we told each other our deepest secrets, but Gopan looked determined as he closed my fingers back around the bag and told me to give them back when I left him.

My hand goes to my pocket, not slipping in, just pressing so I can feel the outline of a sharp point, even through layers of cloth. I can see Gopan’s attention shift by the way he leans forwards slightly. There’s a nonchalant tilt to his chin, almost daring me to do it, to give him back the gems.

“I just don’t hear her talk about my father much,” I say, moving my hand from my pocket to trace the designs on the shutters.

“Oh,” Gopan says, sounding a little disappointed. “No deep dark confessions?”

“I told you my deepest darkest secret already,” I say, leaning forwards to knock my knuckles against his shin. “Can’t you be content with that?”

"Not when you're shaking like that,” Gopan says, unsmiling.

Shaking? I look down at my hands, pressing into the cushion. They’re trembling, and I press them down harder to stop that.

“I felt that, Kiran. What's wrong?” he says again, and for a moment, I can’t help but feel deja vous. His tone reminds me of when he asked me about that stupid rock I was fiddling with, as solid and patient as the earth under our feet. “Don’t lie to me.”

A flutter of motion above the crowd catches my eye outside the window, and I watch as the bird I’d seen earlier flits above the people. It’s a rosefinch. Grama had once pointed others like it out to me while I was sitting around bored in the shop with no more dishes to make or mend. It’s red feathers look strange against the green outfits. I feel like I could watch it forever, wondering.

(Wondering why nature has placed a bird with red plumage in the Earth Kingdom, when all the humans unconsciously choose to wear green and yellow here?   
  


The question reminds me of Minato, and his questions on why the sky is blue, on why plants are green, on why people wear colors that announce their element to the world.)

“I didn’t expect her to let it go that easily,” I say as the bird finally flutters out of view. “It’s a big deal, and I was gearing myself up for heartache, and instead, Mamá just came through in a whirlwind of  _ we were worried _ and  _ it’s fine I did it too _ , and-”

I take a deep breath. I try to relax, or at least calm down. I watch Gopan make an absent swirling motion with his finger that sends the dust on the window sill spiraling into the air, and I’m reminded of MInato again.

It’s silly. They look nothing alike. Minato’s hair is an odd reddish brown, and he has it cut short in the same style as Kyoshi. Gopan’s hair is the normal long, boring black braided tightly back into a rope behind his head. Minato’s skin in is darker - probably because he spends more time outside. Gopan’s clothes are in lighter shades.

It’s just that I’ve seen Minato do that exact same motion before to send the water in his cup spiraling. I saw him do it last night.

Or . . . did he? Does he? Does water bending even work that way? It’s not like I’ve ever seen a waterbender outside my dreams. It’s not like I even know that Minato’s real.

If he is real - then he’s got his own proof. Isn’t it convenient that someone who knows Hikari just happened to come to his island?

I want to know. I want to know if he’s real. I want to know if Hikari’s real. I want to know if there really is a chance that at some point in my lifetime, someone sympathetic to the Earth KIngdom will ascend to the throne. I want to know, but I don’t . . . have the money . . . to . . . send a bird . . .

“Gopan?”

Pale green eyes come up to meet mine.

“Would you be willing to pay for a messenger bird? There’s someone I need to talk to.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This title comes from Home by Phillip Phillips.


	4. Don't Give Me Nothing you Don't Want to Loose: Akane of Suzaku Izland

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> They say be careful what you ask for, and I always thought I was.

I cross my arms and watch Rei examine Samir through the doorway of the tent, one of her hands dropping down to twine in the dog’s fur. I shouldn’t be surprised. They say be careful what you ask for, and I always thought I was.

And I  _ was _ careful. I did need the space from Rei. I needed time to figure out who I was without her, time to figure out who I was when I didn’t have anyone else to rely upon. And I expected her to be there when I got back because that’s what had always happened when I broke myself on the rocks of life.

She was there even when she was exhausted after fighting for money to keep her uncle alive, even when she was exhausted after fighting to keep her family safe. She was there when I fell in and out of love with Takumi, and she was there when Hotaru died on a mission to break waterbenders out of prison.

I was there for her too, I guess. I was there when her uncle died. I was there when she lost a fight and came home bruised and penniless. I was there when she came back broken and triumphant. I was there when Nuan came and when he left. I was there when she left to be a wandering doctor.

And then I wasn’t.

I wanted distance and I got it. Just not on my terms.

“Don’t you have something better to do?”

“The ostrich camels are fed, watered, brushed and hobbled, the tents are set up and staked down, and after last time I tried to cook, I think Nuan decided that he didn’t want me trying and possibly ruining the pot this time, so no, I don’t have anything better to do right now.” I slant a look over at Toph.

She’s got her arms crossed to as she watches the pair of them, leaning against a stack of rocks that she’d probably pulled out of the ground.

Looking at her like this, it isn’t hard to see what her parents must have seen. She’s tiny, and even leaning against a rugged pillar of earth that she probably pulled out of the ground herself, she looks delicate. If anything, the rocks make her look even more delicate in comparison.

I don’t ask her if she’s got anything better to do. I’m not surprised that she’s here, just surprised that she’s out here with me and not in there with Nuan. Makani knows that I’d have been there every time Tu had to patch her up after a rumble if I could have been, and the worst injury Rei ever got in the rumbles was a couple of broken ribs that took two months to heal.

It may have been almost six months since Samir was gutted (and his tribe was killed. I didn’t even hear of it. I wonder if Aunt Kimiko did, and she just never told me because there was nothing I could do.) but Rei’s told me that gut wounds are some of the messiest and the hardest wounds to heal. Even though Samir’s been fine so far, I wouldn’t bet on anything until someone who knows what they’re doing looks him over.

I glance back at Rei and -

Rei’s frowning. I tense. It’s not the  _ you idiot _ frown I see sometimes when I’m denying I’m sick, or the lost expression she gets she knows that her patient is going to die. It’s the frown she gets when I say something she doesn’t understand - when I do something different from the way her parents taught her how to do it.

“What is it?” Toph demands, the pilar sliding into the ground behind her with a stop.

“Nothing,” I say, already knowing she won’t believe me. “Come on. Let’s get closer.”

“-healed really cleanly.” Rei glances up as Toph and I reach the tent door, but she doesn’t stop as she untangles her hand from the dog’s fur to reach for me. I go to her without hesitation, and Toph drops to her knees in front of Samir, squeezing his hands in a way that I’d figured they used to communicate when they were talking to each other. “There weren’t any signs of infection or internal bleeding, and his skin is admirably elastic for not having used any salves, especially in this environment.”

The dog nudges my hand, drawing my attention away from Rei for a moment. Deliberately, it winks at me, leaving me blinking as Rei continues speaking, her other hand coming up so that she was cradling my hand between two of hers. “And besides that, there’s no sign of stitches.”

That declaration makes me glance back at Rei again in confusion. “No stitches? But then how is he alive? I swear, every time I told you about the latest play, you fumed about how they always ‘healed’ everything by just wrapping the wound.”

“Exactly.” Rei sounds satisfied, which is good for her, because I don’t have a clue what’s happening. “So, was it a one time thing? Or can I meet the waterbender?”

Zuko sighs. There’s silence in the tent. Samir looks vaguely pleased.

“There was no waterbender.”

“Then who healed Samir?” Rei’s tone books no argument. “I may not have ever seen any wounds healed by waterbenders, but I’ve seen gut wounds before, and this is not how they heal naturally.”

“There was no waterbender,” Zuko repeats, his eyes fixed on something just to my right. “It was just me, trying to save a dying kid in a field of dead bodies. I didn’t know the others were coming, I barely knew what to do, but I was tired of seeing people die because of the Fire Nation, alright?”

I don’t understand. But then I see Samir moving, and I glance his way in time to see him making the first sign they’d taught me - a sort of generic confirmation of ‘that’s correct’ or ‘that’s what I said’. He catches my eyes and makes the sign again. Then he makes the sign for fire, points at Zuko, and rubs his stomach right where the scar is. And-

“You used firebending to heal like a waterbender would,” Toph says. She sounds almost unimpressed, and Samir nudges her with an elbow, making her yelp. “Okay, okay, you called it!”

“Wait, you healed him using firebending?” Rei asks, letting go of my hand and stepping forwards, leaving me with the dog as she kneels to look at Samir’s scar again. “But how does that even work? You didn’t cauterize the wound, and you can’t manipulate the fluids like a waterbender would . . .”

“How, in the Face Stealer’s name, would I know?”

“You’re the one who did it!”

I wince as their voices start to rise, and I motion for the kids to come over to me.

“Water healing is supposed to be instinctual, what makes you think fire healing is any different?”

“Well, I don’t know, maybe because I’d have heard of it before now?”

“You have!”

“You two go tell Nuan that we might be a little late for dinner,” I mutter, and Toph nods solemnly before tugging Samir out of the tent.

“Where, on Lady Kun’s green earth, would I have heard of this?”

“Drums in Zhi! Thy Forest’s Fire! Grass For Horizons!”

Rei’s face goes blank as she sits back on her heels, and I wonder why for a moment before I remember that despite her education in medicine and math, she skipped school. Tu the doctor certainly didn’t have time to teach her any of them, between her starting her apprenticeship late and the night taken by the Rumbles.

And besides that, all of the plays he’s naming are truly  _ ancient _ . I don’t know if she would have learned out them eve if she’d gotten a normal citizen’s education. Even as a noble, my tutor barely covered them.

“Zuko-” I cut myself off, not knowing how to say it. I don’t want to just remind Rei of everything she missed, but I don’t really want to talk about the fact that Zuko and I are both nobles, with all the privileges that come with that.

My interruption is enough to break the focus of the argument though, and Rei is scowling at the floor. Then she sighs and shakes her head.

“Akane?”

“He’s right,” I mutter before turning to address Zuko. “You do know they probably don’t teach those plays in most schools though, right?”

From the surprised, then guilty look on his face, no he hadn’t known. “Right. Anyways, all of the plays are ancient Fire plays. Not Old Fire ancient, put pretty old. They have a lot of inconsistencies, and a lot of of them seem to be set somewhere in the Earth Kingdoms. Drums in Zhi, for example, appears to have been named after the Zhi Bay and River, and obviously, there aren’t any places on the islands where we’ve got grass for horizons. And Zuko’s right. They all have fire healing.”

“They have earth and air healing too,” Zuko offers quietly. His hands slide together in a motion I recognise after a moment as one of the Fire meditations my aunt taught me in an effort to help with my airbending.

The dog quietly pads forwards in the silence until it can start to lick one of Rei’s hands. She twitches, then reaches out to sink that hand in it’s fur as it settles down on its haunches next to her. I take a deep breath and remind myself not to be jealous, remind myself that I left her.

(I left her. When Toph heard that she went pale. Samir’s hand went to the scar on his stomach. Even Zuko and Nuan, who don’t have dreams and can’t possibly know what it’s like, looked a little pale.)

“Okay,” Rei says. “Okay.”

She scrubs her face with the hand not in the dog’s fur, then motions for me to come to her. She grabs my hand as I get near, and tugs me closer so she can push up my sleeve to reveal a bandaged burn I’d gotten a couple days back. She carefully takes the bandages off, then pulls me forwards a bit so Zuko can see.

“Okay,” she repeats. “Show me.”

Zuko glances from her to me with a silent question in his eyes as he carefully takes my arm, and I nod. He relaxes and motions for me to sit down. He lets go of my arm with one hand and starts making little circles in the air and muttering. It isn’t until he starts on “ _ Lord Agni of the Burning Sun, Of growth and of things yet begun,” _ and a spark flickers to life in the air he’s circling that I realize he’s praying. He’s probably using the opportunity to calm down a little and to gather some fire, but - I shift slightly as he continues onto “ _ Makani, Storm Lord, Lord of Air _ ” - he’s praying.

I’d heard that Fire Lord Azulon and Fire Lord Ozai, in their combined  _ infinite _ wisdom, had decreed that spirits weren’t real. I’d heard some of my cousins talking with Aunt Kimiko about it, about polluted lakes and textbooks talking of silly superstitions that we were of course too knowledgeable to believe in now.

But here’s the boy who would have been crown prince, and he knows the names of the Great Spirits. He knows a prayer that includes all of them, when I barely knew my own Great Spirit’s names.

Then he lets go of my wrist with his other hand to pull at the fire like a glass blower, and it goes rainbow between his hands. I watch in awe as it licks his fingers harmlessly, and he waves his hand close to my arm once, then slides it down my forearm, leaving nothing but smooth skin. The fire feels like the hot, dry air that comes out of the ovens at home, perhaps a little on the side of too hot, but nothing truly harmful, especially as it keeps moving.

Rei is grabbing for my arm almost before he sits back, tongues of rainbow flame still dancing over his hands.

“Okay,” she says, once she’s finished her examination, and the only thing keeping my arm on her lap is the dog sniffing cautiously at my fingers. “I can work with this.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Title from 'To a Poet' by First Aid Kit.


End file.
